Asylo
I sailed into port on a lonely island in the Ionian Sea.
This small Greek island, Mikogandrous, was like so many others with its white, sandy beaches, hidden caves, mountains, and water as clear as a Tiffany diamond.
My discovery of Mikogandous happened in October 2016. I had chartered a 48’ sailboat, the “Elskov,” to sail among the Greek islands. So gorgeous was this sleek, snow-white sloop with its gleaming varnished bright work and bronze hardware that it caught the eye of many envious sailors.
This classic vessel was built in Norway by world-class boatwrights. Elskov is a Norwegian word. Translated into English it means “heated passion” or “sexual love.”
Traveling alone is common for me. Although I am not gregarious, I would often meet others along the way and form close bonds. These relationships are as memorable to me as any rainbow-colored sunset.
I had no agenda on this voyage other than to enjoy the wind, sky, sea, and sailing. If adventure presented itself, all the better. Finding islands in the Ionian Sea with secluded caves, coves with silvery sand beaches, and almost invisible water bluer than the eyes of your lover was not unusual but always breathtaking.
I pulled Elskov into a dock in Mikogandous’ port town, Asylo, which means sanctuary in English.
While securing Elskov’s dock lines to the pier, a fellow raced down the quay to Elskov and me. He wore a sun-bleached blue fisherman’s cap, a well-worn denim shirt and khaki pants. He had tousled blond hair, movie star good looks, and a wide, infectious smile. He was sufficiently self-assured that he need not try to impress anyone. He was unpretentious. His name was David Upton. He was an American expatriate.
Upton shouted out at me as he approached, “Ahoy! Welcome my friend!” I held out my hand. But a handshake was inadequate for Upton. Instead, with a wide smile, he greeted me with a crushing bear hug. “I’m Upton, Davis Upton,” he told me.
His welcome was with the joy of a man meeting a brother not seen for many years. His hug sealed our instant friendship. Once free of his embrace I told him, “I am pleased to meet you. My name is Jack, Jack Regosta.”
“Before we bother with your gear, Jack, let’s get a beer at To Iliofeneia Kafe, ‘the Sunshine Cafe,” Upton said. “It’s the meeting place of all the citizens of Mikogandous.
With that we walked with his arm around my shoulder, like soldiers who lived through battle together, into the Sunshine. We sat at a small, beer-stained table and drank a couple of Mythos beers without a word between us. It was at that point that we began the stories of our pasts. We spoke a bit about our origins, families, and careers. It was when we began talking of our adventures and lovers of our pasts that our conversation came alive.
We could have talked nonstop until sunrise. Our conversations continued during many nights thereafter. Even then we could not fully lay out ourselves, our intimate dreams, our hopes, and beliefs.
Upton seemed to know everyone. He was liked and respected by everyone.
Several days passed while I walked about the island absorbing the life and charm of Mikogandous. My nights were for time at the Sunshine with Upton.
The cafe was small, dark, and filled at the end of a hard day’s work by fishermen after they off-loaded their catch. Despite their long days at sea, these fishermen had plenty of energy left to talk, laugh and make Sunshine come alive with energy and joy. Old disputes and ancient grudges between men melted away. All at the Sunshine were merry. Brothers.
There were no menus at the Sunshine. Nor was there a chalkboard listing food available for patrons. The fare was the daily catch, fresh vegetables, and fried potatoes. Meals ended with dark coffee and sweet melomakarona or baklava.
Upton told me about his previous life as a successful financier in New York City. He explained that he grew to hate his career. “The lack of morality among my business associates became so repugnant to me that I abruptly retired.” His ultimate explanation was, he said, “ To cleanse my soul.”
His leaving work was at odds with his wife’s desires. That factor, among others, led to an amicable divorce and Upton’s immediate departure from New York. He left to find his future - wherever that may be.
Like me, Upton was a seeker of adventure. He learned of an idyllic island among the many Greek islands from a close friend of Greek descent. Immediately thereafter Upton set off for the Ionian Sea to find whatever satisfaction Mikogandous could offer. That was 4 years before we met. He fell in love with the island. After a couple of days of rest, Upton looked for a job. The only work available was on a fishing trawler, the “Melissa S.” He worked with enthusiasm, fellowship and a desire to please. His mates unanimously liked him and respected him.
The Sunshine had been owned and operated by a bachelor named Demetrius Kamaras. When Demetrious died there was no citizen of Mikogandous able or willing to take over ownership and management of Sunshine.
Having won the affection of his shipmates and the people of Asylo, Upton was presented with the opportunity to acquire and operate Sunshine. He eagerly embraced this situation. Upton’s outgoing, upbeat personality made him a perfect fit to run Sunshine. He loved to meet newcomers and sing and dance with all his customers. It was with that joie de vivre that he met me.
At the Sunshine, I told Upton about my career as a trial lawyer in Providence, RI. I boasted of my status as an arguably large fish in the small pond of my practice in RI. I loved the challenge and satisfaction of trial practice.
The love of my life was Laura, my wife of twenty years. She taught creative writing at Brown University. Laura was my cheerleader and inspiration. She would help me prepare for my trials. Laura challenged arguments I planned to make in court. I accepted her thoughts and suggestions almost every time she would offer them.
One night, about 2 weeks after I landed in Mikogandous, with no prompting, I told Upton about Laura’s death. She had an early onset of breast cancer. It metastasized seemingly overnight. Between sobs, I explained to Upton her courage and death twenty-two years ago.
My friend put his hand over mine. He said nothing. Upton knew his compassionate act expressed what he could never accomplish with words.
Laura and I had not been able to have children. Laura’s death left me alone, lonely, and without purpose. Having lost my enthusiasm for life, I left the practice of law at an early age. As trite as it may sound, I wanted to travel and find a new life. Hence my voyage with Elskov.
After having heard my anguishing saga, Upton opened up to me. Hesitantly, he exposed from the recesses of his heart his deepest secret. He spoke of his tenderness and desire for a woman named Gabriella.
Despite his bravado and outgoing nature, he never approached Gabriella. “I could not risk being rejected,” he told me. Until then he had locked away his feelings even from me.
Upton’s disclosure was like a hard punch to my gut.
Several days ago by chance, I met a woman named Gabriella.
On the outskirts of Asylo was a narrow alleyway of no identified name. This passageway was, as were all the lanes and alleyways of Asylo, decorated with window boxes of flowers: begonias, petunias, verbena, and other colorful flowers. Toward the center of this alleyway was a shop that sold hand-sewn children’s clothing.
There was no reason for me to have strolled down this alleyway except curiosity. The centuries-old alley was paved with cobblestones. As I walked along gawking at the flowers cascading down from the windows, I did not notice an uneven stone. I stumbled over it and fell. My fall was not graceful. I held out my hand to break my fall.
The lesion was not quite enough to draw any blood. Before I could stand up and dust myself off a woman hurried from the shop to help me.
She was tall and thin - fit in an athletic way. Her shoulder-length, lustrous, slightly sun-streaked hair was the color of a sunrise. It was secured behind her with a black, silk ribbon. She had on a plain, long, beige sundress of thin, slightly crumpled linen. She wore no jewelry. The nails on her fingers and toes were not painted. Her skin was tanned. She moved with the grace of a prima ballerina. Her face bested the beauty of Grace Kelly.
A goddess had come to aid me.
She knelt next to me - close enough so that her knee more than slightly brushed my thigh. She took my scraped hand with her right hand. Although my sleeve was not in the way of where I fell on my hand, she gently placed her left hand on my arm and slowly slid it upward along my arm to move my sleeve up. All the while she looked straight at me. I boldly looked back at her.
The skin in my hand was not broken. She softly patted it better. We stood. We were still looking into one another’s eyes.
“I’m Gabriella.”
“I’m Jack. I will see you tomorrow.”
She said, “I will pray for that.” She turned and went back inside the shop.
We met at her shop three days running. Our conversations were soft, slow, and intimate. We were falling. We had a future.